In Your Dreams
by llorolalluvia
Summary: Concerned about Harry's nightmares, Hermione discovers a potion that allows one to enter another's dreams. Well, Harry isn't the only one having nightmares... Will she get in over her head? WARNING: This will be a graphic fic and will contain some not-exactly-consensual situations. SSHG!
1. Chapter 1

_**WARNING, this fic will be graphic and contains some forced situations (it's hard to explain… not quite rape, but… not exactly consensual)**_

_So, just to establish the fic, this takes place before their 7__th__ year, totally disregarding HBP and maybe more… It won't be long, but I have had this little plot bunny hopping around my mind for a while, so I figured I'd let it out on the page. Anyway, for those of you following Clash of the Conjurers, I know! I'm sorry! I'm going to update soon! That just… wasn't what I was inspired to write today… I hope you enjoy this little fic, though! _

_And if you do, Please Review!_

…*~*J*~*…

He wasn't eating again.

Hermione watched as Harry picked listlessly at his porridge; his scar standing out like a flame against the drained pallor of his skin. They were getting worse.

She and Ron had been trying all summer to convince Harry to confide in them about his nightmares, but he only pretended they didn't exist. Didn't he understand that they were a team? That his friends were there to help him? That he didn't have to go it alone? Well she was no fool, and if he wasn't going to allow her to help him, he really couldn't blame her when she found a way to do it on her own.

When Harry finally took his porridge to the sink and left the room, Hermione waited a minute in guilty anticipation. She really should not have been as nervous about this as she was, considering her motives. And yet, the secrecy of the matter did require a bit of sneaking on her part. It wasn't as if she were unaccustomed to sneaking; just that she had never had cause to do so around her friends. After a moment, sure that Harry was not about to reenter the kitchen, Hermione took her own empty bowl to the sink and made her way around the table to Harry's vacated place. There, just below where his head had been bent in weary torment, was one long, dark hair. She breathed a sigh of relief and gently plucked it from the table to examine. The ease of her success wrought a laugh from her lips and she practically skipped from the room. But just as she leapt over the threshold, who should appear but one exhausted-looking Professor Snape? And she smashed right into him.

"Damn it Granger!"

"Sorry!"

She stepped aside to let him pass and found, to her horror, that the hair was gone. _Shite!_

He sniffed the air as he passed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "A bit early to be preparing for your N.E.W.T.s, don't you think?"

Hermione was momentarily taken aback. It was true that she had already begun preparation for that ultimate goal at the end of this coming school year, but what on earth gave it away? "Excuse me?" she asked, baffled. Most of her mind was occupied searching his robes with her eyes for that lost hair.

He raised one eyebrow in mockery. "You reek of potions, Granger. I am well familiar with the scent." _Oh gods_, was it that obvious? No. Only someone with a nose as large and practiced as his could have smelled her secret. No one else seemed to notice.

Hermione smiled helplessly up at him and shrugged her shoulders. "Are you really surprised?"

He snorted slightly at that and seemed to accept her answer, sweeping past her into the kitchen at last. To her disbelieving relief, he slipped out of the long teaching robes and draped them over a chair as he headed toward the sink. _Thank Merlin for summer heat! _She didn't have a moment to spare for second thoughts as he rifled through one of the cabinets for a glass. Practically leaping over to his chair, she turned the robes so that she could see the front and ran her finger along the fabric in search of that one, dark hair. One glance at Snape showed him inspecting the glass and raising his wand to it.

"_Scourgify_," she heard him mumble. Then the sink was running, filling his glass up with cool water. And _there_ was the hair! She grabbed it as Snape was turning around and leapt through the kitchen door, narrowly missing Kingsley Shacklebolt as he swaggered in for the upcoming Order meeting. Before any other obstacles could rob her of her painstakingly acquired prize, Hermione dashed up to her room, pulled the cauldron out from under her bed, and threw the hair inside. Immediately, the steaming brew turned the proper shade of deep maroon and Hermione sighed in relief. Phase One was now complete!

Now she had only to wait for nightfall.

…*~*J*~*…

It was two in the morning, but Hermione was too nervous to sleep. She stared down at the parchment where she had made her calculations. Two hours of dreams for every ounce of potion. 64 ounces of potion. Harry's nightmares—according to Ron (a dubitable source at best, taking into account his own deep sleep)—began around two or three in the morning. On a good day, Harry generally woke up around nine in the morning. Supposing that she needed to remain within the dream until he woke of his own accord, she could assume that that would require up to seven hours. Therefore, she should drink three and a half ounces of the potion. Now there was only to do it. Well, it certainly wouldn't do to linger in hesitance and allow his nightmares to overtake him. So, with that in mind, she finally measured out the correct quantity of potion and downed it in two disgusted gulps. Well, it wasn't Polyjuice, but the sweet, milky taste of the brew still made her cringe.

Before she knew it, she was suddenly falling, and everything around her screamed of panic. The very air was dark and twisted, writhing like snakes as she fell into its midst. When she hit the ground, she felt no pain.

The arena of his nightmares was a grand hall with an arching ceiling into which she now stared. The marble tile was freezing at her back, as if sucked of heat by a Dementor's kiss. Suddenly, she became aware of screaming, as if a veil had been lifted and she was seeing clearly at last. The anguish was tangible and seemed to rip through her very heart. All around, Death Eaters came into view, surrounding her and the figure beside her on the floor. Finally, she looked at him. And he was not Harry.

Hermione Granger had seen some horrors in her young life, but nothing before this point could compare to seeing Severus Snape thrashing violently beneath the torturing hands of Death Eaters and pleading for his life. The unprecedented image was so unnatural and unexpected that it lashed her with fear and pain for the creature who was her professor. She was terrified.

Then, without warning, his eyes met hers. And it was as if a trigger had been pulled. "No!" he shouted through the haze of cackling Death Eaters. Suddenly, he was standing among them, pointing his wand down at her, and _she_ was the one screaming, very much in pain. 'You shouldn't be here!' his thoughts attacked her, though his lips refused to move. 'Stupid, meddlesome, foolish girl!' She wasn't sure if he meant 'in the room' or 'in the dream.' 'Your senseless bravery will cost you your life!'

'Do it!' another voice screamed over the others. Its icy hiss sent a shiver down her spine, like the caress of an evil tongue.

And then her Professor's lips did move, and he raised his wand. She knew what was happening before it could happen, but she was powerless to stop it. '_Avada Kedavra!_' There was a flash of green and a feeling of nothingness before everything went black.

…*~*J*~*…

Hermione stared down at the empty vial that had rolled across the blankets in her slumber. _Snape's hair._ "How could I have been so _stupid?_" It had been Snape's hair on his robes. How many times was she fated to pluck erroneous hairs from peoples' robes for potion purposes before she finally learned her lesson?

She took a deep breath and suddenly the tension in her shattered with a terrible sob and she collapsed back against the covers. What she had seen in Snape's dreams could not be unseen. The horror of it still seemed to echo on the night air. Somehow, she had gotten past the famous Occlumens' shields and seen a side of him that he showed to no one. It was beyond disturbing to know what her professor would look like tortured senseless by his fellow Death Eaters. But more than that, she now knew that Professor Snape had nightmares too. That behind his stubborn, proud façade, the unsung hero of the Order of the Phoenix was deeply afraid of his own increasingly likely demise. Somehow, knowing that made him seem so… human. It made her uneasy. Though she had always respected and even admired Snape for what he did for the Order, she had never quite realized what that actually meant. Now, it was painfully etched behind her eyelids in vivid detail. She could not forget it.

Nor could she forget the way he'd pointed his wand down at her, cursing her in his mind as he obeyed his dark master and murdered her on the spot. She shivered. Even supposing that it was a nightmare and that he was seeing his own worst fears, his unhesitating resolve was cruel and painful. It twisted in her stomach, because she knew that even though it wasn't real, it really was. Somewhere, right now, the man who had stared unblinkingly down at her as he killed her with two words had just had a terrible dream in which he'd been forced to do just that. And he hadn't hesitated.

…*~*J*~*…

It took another week to brew the potion again. She kept the one with Snape's hair just in case, but was afraid to even consider using it again. This time, she was more careful about the hair she chose, sneaking into Harry's bedroom and stealing it off his pillow. She didn't need another disaster, like last time.

This experiment was far more successful. Inside of Harry's mind, she felt the torment and overwhelming fear that she had sensed from him in the past several months. And there was an anxious feeling of responsibility that made her heart ache. She landed in a graveyard—presumably the graveyard where Voldemort had returned just over two years ago—and all around her were Death Eaters. She took a moment to wonder ironically at the similarities between Harry's dream and that of their professor. But as Voldemort neared the boy, she knew she had to stop him before he spoke. Concentrating very hard, as her readings had told her to do, she imagined the Hogwarts grounds in springtime and the way the giant squid liked to sunbathe in the shallows. Voldemort struggled to remain, but quickly tumbled away as she conjured up memories of the Trio together, laughing. She suggested Harry play Quidditch and watched him soar across the Hogwarts lawn. And when the darkness threatened to interrupt, she banished it quickly and brought Ginny into the dream. Peace wafted over the windblown grass and Hermione sat back to allow the rest of his dream to unfold.

Every night for a week, she did this, and she noted that her best friend seemed much improved. His complexion had a healthy glow, the bags were gone from beneath his eyes, and he was eating again. When they talked together, he laughed. When they worried, he stood strong. He had finally regained his confidence as the leader they so desperately needed him to be.

But something seemed wrong. Something was bothering her, in the back of her mind. And it wasn't until the next Order meeting that she realized what it was. They were allowed to sit in on this one, as they often were when there was nothing of consequence to report, and Hermione noted with increasing unease that Professor Snape seemed to be studying her. Did he know what she had done? That she knew what he had dreamed? That she had been there? Or was that still her secret?

…*~*J*~*…

That night, Hermione sat on her bed, staring down at two identical vials. One would take her into Harry's dreams, as it had done every night for a week. The other would take her back into her professor's mind, and even the thought of that made fear prickle at her nerves. But she had grown more confident the more experience she had controlling Harry's dreams. And part of her felt that she had unfinished business with the professor. Perhaps, if she were able to help him, too, she would no longer feel so helplessly forlorn. After all, if it was in her power to soothe the man, shouldn't she do it? And maybe… if she were able to bring him peace… maybe next time… he would hesitate.

The same dark chaos reigned when Hermione fell to the cold marble floor, but the sounds were immediately apparent, and he noticed her the moment that she landed. It almost seemed, strangely enough, as if he had been waiting for her. Then, the visions of Death Eaters around them seemed to blur and their shouts dimmed to faraway cries as he reached toward her with one weak arm across the floor. All her plans to dissolve the hall with daylight and remind him of a bird's song on the breeze fell by the wayside with that one gesture, and she reached for him as well.

When their hands connected, the scene disappeared with a snap and they stood in darkness, their arms wrapped around one another. And he wept into her hair. For a moment, she was merely unnerved by this unprecedented display of emotion from the austere professor. But then, remembering that he was safe in his own dreams, she felt a surge of something akin to triumph. She had freed him! Happily, she hugged him tighter against her. It felt weird to be so close to Snape, to feel his body against her own. Somehow, it was different from hugging Harry or Ron. And she knew without a doubt that he never would have allowed this in reality. But here, the rules were different.

Hermione's hands rubbed soothing circles on her professor's back through the soft wool of his coat, and then snuck upward in awe to touch his hair before returning to the bare skin of his shoulders. He was heavier than she would have expected, she realized as her back pressed into the sturdy cushion of a large mattress. When he lifted himself to look down at her, cold dungeon air wafted across her naked breasts. Before she could register surprise, he was kissing her neck and pressing his bare body desperately against hers, kneading her breasts with long fingers as he kneed his way between her thighs.

She looked down in horror as he thrust himself inside her, and she suddenly felt the piercing pain of sex as he broke past her virginity and began to fuck her slowly atop the bed. She started to panic, grabbing his arms, but before she could tell him to stop, his mouth came down on hers, swallowing her objection with a kiss. The reality of what was taking place began to dawn on her as he thrust harder and faster against her and moaned into her mouth. Then, suddenly, with one last thrust, he froze above her, crying out. And upon his face was an expression so vulnerable in such an opposing way to the agony and sadness she had seen before that she was mystified. It was ecstasy. And as he came, he met her eye, and suddenly she was waking up in her bed at 12 Grimmauld Place, shivering.

…*~*J*~*…

_A little on the weird side, I know, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway ;)_

_Please leave a review :} it really makes my day!_

_:} llorolalluvia_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

…*~*J*~*…

Severus started awake, shaken by the force of an incredible orgasm. It was not unusual for him to wake in the middle of the night with his heart pounding furiously in his chest, but it was very odd indeed to have had a pleasant dream. _What the fuck was that?_ Had he really just dreamt about sex with Hermione Granger? Severus had to shake his head, throwing the sheets off and cleaning himself up before slipping out of bed and dragging himself into the bathroom.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he almost laughed out loud with the absurdity of it all. Not once in all his years of teaching had he dreamt about sex with a student. Hell, it was rare enough for him to dream about sex at all. But clearly there must be a logical explanation.

Severus relieved his bladder, allowing his mind to wander, and then moved to the sink. The cold water running over his hands helped to wash away the emotion surging through him until all that was left were the facts. Hermione Granger had appeared in one of his nightmares several nights ago. He had already analyzed that. She had been behaving rather oddly that day, and it was natural for his subconscious to cling to the suspicion she provoked and call upon her in a dream. The fact that he had killed her came as no surprise—he often had dreams like that about fellow Order members—but her reaction had bothered him quite a bit. Usually, in such dreams, his associates pleaded with him to spare them—as if the choice were his—or cursed him with all the accusations he'd heard over the years. It hadn't even been the first time he had dreamt of Miss Granger in that scenario. But never before had any of them looked at him as she had.

Raw, unconcealed, heartbreaking fear. That is what he had seen in her eyes. Hurt. And sadness; a profound hopelessness and understanding of her own position. It was as if she had known there was nothing he could do. It was acceptance of her own fate, despite her clawing desperation to avoid it.

He had wondered for a long time what that must mean. Was his unconscious mind trying to tell him that he underestimated the girl? For years she had been the only Gryffindor who truly believed he was innocent. Was he still clinging to that last bit of faith to prove that he was not yet lost? But then he reminded himself that the dreams in which his acquaintances spewed endless tirades of accusation and guilt were far less painful than the one he'd had of Granger. It was as if having them blame him for their own ends made it somehow easier for him to do. He could hate them if they hated him back.

But Granger hadn't hated him. She believed in him. She had known the truth; that he had to sacrifice her for the good of the Cause, in order to keep his position as a spy. And that petty excuse for murder was a harder bite to swallow. It broke through his carefully constructed psychological defenses, as none of the other dreams had been able to do, and made him feel… guilty.

For several days, he had been more afraid of sleeping than he had been in ages, but he hadn't dreamt of her again. And soon he'd gotten back into the rhythm of traditional, terrifying nightmares without the twisting stab of remorse.

And then he'd seen her at the Order meeting earlier that very day. Hermione Granger; the Brains of the Golden Trio; the bushy-haired, know-it-all, hand-waving nuisance. The epithets rolled right off his tongue like a cliché, they were so second-nature. Only, this time, he had really looked at her; past the hair, past the freckles, past the infantile way she sat with her legs beneath her in the chair. And he had suddenly realized that Hermione Granger was a much more complicated person than he had ever given her credit for being. That annoying, youthful excitement she seemed to direct at any and all new information was tempered by a keen skepticism for words unsupported by evidence. Her inevitable interjections of opinion did not completely unveil her thoughts; only the parts she wanted on the table. And he would be lying if he said that he hadn't suddenly noticed the curvaceous figure of a woman she had developed while he wasn't looking.

When she had appeared in his dream again tonight, something changed. Where usually he would have immediately cast himself as her murderer, he hesitated. And something about her presence brought a peacefulness that gave him strength to fend off the nightmare, somehow. Was it any wonder, then, that he had been drawn to her? The comfort and acceptance that seemed to emanate from the girl was at such odds to the harsh accusation of his usual nightmares that he'd found himself broken down by it. Understandably, sexual desire was adjacent to the affection she had shown him, and his long-dormant hormones took full advantage of the crack in his emotional shields.

Yes, he nodded to himself, it made perfect sense, really.

As he slipped back beneath the sheets, hoping for a few more hours before consciousness beckoned again, Severus found himself hoping for more dreams of _her._

…*~*J*~*…

Hermione had not been able to get back to sleep all night. Her brain seemed keen to analyze every teensy detail of the dream and its implications. First and foremost on her mind was the fact that it had felt so real. Or, at least, she _thought_ it had… but it was hard to be sure, seeing as she had no experience to draw on. And that was another thing… had she had sex? Was she no longer a virgin? Or was she a virgin who now knew exactly what it felt like to have sex? With her professor… _Oh gods. _

Professor Severus Snape had always been an angry man; very aloof and never friendly. She wasn't even sure he _had_ friends. After all, it wasn't as if the Order members liked him. But with his guard down, he'd shown her another side of him that she never would have expected to exist. And he had fucked her. There really was no other word for it. Of course, she understood that he was not acting as intentionally as she was; that his mind was making the leaps and jumps that dreams often do. However, the fact remained that what had transpired had not been a mutually agreed upon activity and he had been in complete control. _Merlin_, it made her face red just to think about it.

And, _oh gods_, what would Harry and Ron think? Hermione gasped into the darkness. Well, she just wouldn't tell them. They wouldn't believe her anyway; she hardly did herself. Professor Snape, the bat of the dungeons, the Greasy Git—her breath hitched—the Head of Slytherin House had dreamt about her last night. And what bothered her most was the fact that that should bother her a whole lot more than it did.

The eerie blue of early morning was filtering through the curtains, now, and once in a while she heard a bird outside. For years, Hermione had striven to impress their surly professor, and he had never once satisfied that desire. But she was beginning to wonder just how much was hidden behind that angry façade, if he could dream up such a thing about _her._ It wasn't as if he were having a sexual dream and she walked into it, and the jump from nightmare to fantasy was rather large. A hesitant smile slowly grew across Hermione's face. _She_ had inspired that scenario. _She_ had saved him from his nightmares. And _she_ had made him come. _Oh gods, I made my professor come!_

It should have sickened her, but Hermione found that the grin which stretched across her face refused to fade, and all she could feel was triumph.

…*~*J*~*…

Harry looked dreadful that day. He clearly hadn't slept well, and Hermione felt that she was the one to blame. She had robbed him of his good dreams and given them to Snape. It was completely illogical, of course, but that was the way she felt. Well, now that she'd satisfied her curiosity, she'd have no need to revisit the professor's mind.

By daylight, the dream they'd shared seemed like a faraway fantasy; something she'd imagined that couldn't really be true. Professor _Snape_, of all people. She just couldn't believe it. Well, the thing to do, really, was to push it from her mind. After all, he was her professor, and it was better she didn't think about him in that way.

As the days went by, she returned to her routine of dreaming with Harry, and the boy looked so much the better for it. Harry's wellbeing was her top priority, and she was happy to be able to help him. If he wouldn't confide in her, at least she could chase away his nightmares. And for now, that was good enough for her.

But she found that she couldn't keep her thoughts from drifting to Snape's dream. It had been so real. Part of her was drawn to the memory by the pure excitement of having discovered something new. And part of her knew that that excitement came from other, less respectable sources.

She hadn't quite _enjoyed_ the dream, per se. Obviously, she'd been more or less in a state of panic, at the time. However, she had to admit, she was beginning to enjoy _thinking_ about it.

There was just something so _exciting_ about imagining that Snape wanted her sexually. It made her feel powerful in a uniquely feminine way. And as unaccustomed to feeling feminine as she was, the sentiment held her captive by its unprecedented charm. She felt like a child who'd been given her first taste of ice cream. Now all she could think about was getting some more.

_Woah!_ _Let's not get ahead of ourself. _She certainly didn't want _more._ After all, the experience hadn't exactly been _pleasant_. That is, it had been rather painful, all in all. Exciting, or not. It wasn't as if she'd had an orgasm, after all. Not that she ever _had_ had one.

So why was it that thoughts of his naked body above hers-the gleam of arousal in his eyes-the way his lips parted in uncharacteristic pleasure-made her cheeks flush pleasantly and a warm excitement settle in her belly? She knew the feeling and it was uncomfortably similar to the way she used to feel when Ron would smile at her, back in Fourth Year, before Victor, when life was simple.

And what if she _were_ to reenter her professor's dreams? The mere thought sent a wave of heat across her skin and made her breath hitch, overwhelmed by possibilities. Who was to say he'd have the same dream? Maybe it would be entirely different. She gasped as her mind toyed with the notion. She would be jumping off the cliff, so to speak, giving him the reigns and surrendering to his desires. _Oh, Merlin._

By the time the next Order meeting came around, Hermione had worked herself into a tizzy. She had replayed the dream so many times that the details were fuzzy and the emotions were dulled, but Snape had become the object of her fantasies, and she'd be seeing him soon.

The hours ticked by and she found herself alternately pacing her room and pretending to read in the kitchen while acting as casual as possible and waiting for _him_ to arrive. As it happened, of course, she was pacing in the kitchen and trying to decide if she shouldn't hide in the library—but part of her desperately wanted to see him again, for reasons she couldn't possibly name—when he suddenly appeared in the doorway.

She didn't… _squeak_… exactly… It was more of a startled gasp—complete with flinch and rapid blush. Her cheeks were hot, but she met his eye as he lifted one disdainful brow. "Feeling a bit… on edge… today, Miss Granger?"

It was remarkable. How did he manage to pretend so perfectly that he hadn't shagged her in his dreams just a week ago? It was enough to make her wonder if he really had. There was nothing in his manner or his face to suggest that anything had changed at all, which unnerved her more than she was willing to admit. Did he often have such dreams? Ridiculous. Of course, she was no Occlumens, and he could probably read her secrets in her wide eyes and rosy cheeks. She reacted instinctively. "Must you _always_ sneak up on people? You might have given me a heart attack!"

Snape's expression darkened and he advanced on her, trapping her against the table in one fluid motion that had her gasping for breath. She seemed to shrink several inches as he loomed over her in indignation. "You would do well, Miss Granger, to temper your outbursts when speaking to a professor. School may not be in session, but I will not tolerate such disrespect." Hermione couldn't breathe. She had been thinking so much about the man in the dream that she had forgotten who Severus Snape really was. Probably the fantasy hadn't been anything personal at all. She was female. He was male. Perhaps his overwrought mind had taken the opportunity to find a bit of relief, and that was all.

"S-Sorry, Professor," she heard herself say. His nostrils flared, but he seemed appeased by her response; probably just content to see that she still feared him. And then she saw it. For the briefest fraction of a second, his eyes darted down to her chest where the simple cotton of her dress clung to her rounded breasts in a subtle caress. She had chosen to wear the thing precisely for that appeal. But imagining him noticing it and actually seeing it for herself were two very different things. It was the most fleeting of glances. But in that instant, she knew. The dream had been real. Her breath caught and the sudden realization shook her to the core with tense, quaking fire that made her strangely lightheaded. She was suddenly very aware that both of them were remembering it, and her ears began to hum with the tension in the room. She felt like a cornered rabbit. But then, there were hurried footsteps on the stairs and Fred and George appeared, giving Hermione the chance to slip away.

…*~*J*~*…

Severus lingered, for once, after their meeting, taking tea with Remus in the kitchen. Despite his rather hasty and spiteful decision to out the werewolf to the public, Severus found that he did not mind the man's company, most of the time. Years of brewing his Wolfsbane had brought them closer in a subtle, yet integral way. They had established a sort of peace.

After a short while sharing the comfort of the silence, Remus was called upon by Potter to participate in the feeding ritual of the beast in the attic. Severus finished his cup of tea and placed it in the sink before deciding that he, too, should leave. Had he been hoping she'd make a reappearance? _Foolishness._

But as he swept up the stairs and past the open door of the study, he caught sight of her. There, stretched across a couch, a book resting on her stomach, was Miss Granger. She had not seen him and he took the opportunity to study her while she was unaware. That bushy mane of hair was crushed against the pillows, framing a face that seemed lost in thought. Severus had never seen the girl pay so little attention to a book. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were parted and he suddenly had the distinct impression that she was actually fantasizing. _Imagine!_ Granger often seemed lost in thought, but it was usually of an academic nature. To imagine her thinking about such things… well, it was best he didn't imagine it at all.

The soft fabric of her dress—how odd to see her in a dress—draped over her form, outlining the lush orbs of her young breasts, the dip of her stomach, and even the slight curve at the apex of her thighs. Best not to study that too intently, either. One knee was bent, the other stretched out straight, and the skin of her legs had a healthy, summer glow. Severus swallowed. In short, she was beautiful. He was just about to turn away when she released the softest sigh and slowly rubbed her thighs together. His breath caught and his heart suddenly began to hammer in his chest as he felt himself growing hard. When had she become such a woman? When had she learned what it was to want sex?

…*~*J*~*…

_Please Review! It really makes my day!_

_:} llorolalluvia_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

…*~*J*~*…

It is dangerous for a spy to practice self-deception. In order to lie effectively, one must be entirely honest with one's self. Severus Snape had mastered this skill with brutal self-deprecation. But it took every one of his not-inconsiderable years of practice to grudgingly admit that he didn't despise her as much as he'd like to believe.

Oh, Hermione Granger had certainly caused her share of grief in the Potions Master's life, but he had never truly _hated_ her. Before she had the misfortune of connecting herself to the Potter brat, Miss Granger had even reminded him—rather painfully—of himself. She'd had no friends to speak of, poor personal grooming, and a predilection for learning unparalleled by her peers. For her—he had known without asking—reading was an escape from the unhappy truth of her own existence. Or at least, that is what he had believed. When she managed to obtain friends—something he had never quite accomplished—books had continued to take precedence. That startling fact unnerved Severus in a way he never could have predicted. Didn't she know that she was being given a chance? Didn't she realize that the doors were open to her, now? That she no longer needed to seek solace in the pages of the written word? She had her chance at freedom, but she chose to live in literature, instead. And what frightened him most was the realization that he likely would have done the exact same thing.

For years, Severus Snape had blamed his loneliness on others. On Lily, to be precise. It had been so much easier, placing blame on some external source. It justified his need to bury his nose in a book and be consumed by another world.

But Hermione Granger's friends never left her; and she never left her books.

Over the years, Severus had noted with irritation—and yes, if he were honest, envy—the way in which the Granger girl's penchant for learning never ceased, was never discouraged, and only ever seemed to grow. No matter how he humiliated her, how her friends teased, how her life progressed, she never stopped being the insufferable know-it-all he had once declared her to be. And he had to admire that fortitude of character. Grudgingly. And only in the back of his mind.

But to dream about her, sexually… was a different matter altogether. Severus had to admit that he had noticed her curvy figure the day he'd had the dream. And he'd be a sorry spy not to notice under the scrutiny to which he had subjected her! The weary man pulled a hand down his face in exasperation. He couldn't seem to close his eyes without seeing her body, stretched out and scantily clad. _Fuck!_

It wasn't just her body, though. That would be too simple; too easy. If he were honest with himself—truly, painfully honest with himself—he had to confess a certainty that the attraction sprung originally from her mind. _Yes_, Merlin revile him for the fool that he was, he admired the girl's intellect. _Dammit. _

Of course, that still didn't change the fact that she was _his_ seventeen-year-old _student!_ Disgusting. As rationally as he had analyzed the dream he'd had the other night, he still could not justify it to himself. His subconscious mind should have known better than to torment him with images he could never allow himself to revisit. Much as he wanted to call upon them late at night, as the darkness of his chambers threatened to consume him whole and he found himself finally alone, he could not. Those moments when he was not required to play a part or serve a master, and when he could not yet sleep, all he wanted to do was think of _her_ and how she'd held him. And how she'd felt beneath him. Oh, how he longed to take himself in hand; to experience orgasm once again; to find relief from the stress of his existence in the thought of her breath on his skin. _Merlin_, how he wanted to dream of her again.

For in dreams, he could not tell himself that he was being lecherous and vile. He did not feel the guilt that a waking man feels as he thinks about a student with his hand around his cock. He would not constantly imagine her refusal in every possible combination of words; the more likely responses to his unwelcome advances. For in dreams, she could act on her own. And there, she had not rejected him.

…*~*J*~*…

Hermione found herself, once again, staring down at the little vial of milky liquid. She had not said goodbye to the Potions Master, and he would not be back for another week. But there was one way that she could see him. The trouble was, of course, that would involve stepping into a world where anything was possible; not unlike burying herself in a book. But here the stakes were real; or at least they seemed to be. After all, she hadn't actually died the night he dreamt of killing her. It had only felt as if it must be real.

Yes, she told herself, she could enter his dreams as she would a book and none of the consequences would follow her. It was just a dream. And she would see her professor. But why was it that she _wanted_ to see her professor? She would be lying if she said she didn't hope that he touched her as he had the time before. But why him, then? She could dream with Ron and he would certainly be willing to enact the scenario with her. What was it about the dark, tortured man that made her want to slip beneath him in his bed and let him press inside her. She wanted to feel his soul against hers. She wanted to _mean something_ to him.

That realization caused a flutter of panic inside her. Was this obsession just an offshoot of her need to please him? Could her newly found attraction to the man just be a product of her desire to have his approval? Hermione took a few deep breaths and then allowed herself to concentrate on the man, himself. _Why is it that you like him, so?_

He was mysterious, that was a certainty. Incredibly intelligent and learned, obviously. And mature, in a way that the boys in her class couldn't be. He was quiet and serious and tucked away all of his emotions from the light of day. But she knew that they were there. She had seen them. She had seen him vulnerable in his fear and pain and _ecstasy_. And she wanted to see it again. She _craved_ that secret touch; the window into his soul. She wanted to revisit him, in the only way he would allow her. She wanted him to let her in, again.

And so she took the potion.

There was grass beneath her when she landed, this time. The dark of night seemed to suck at their souls, and all around them were Death Eaters and headstones.

_Crucio!_ Screaming pierced the darkness and Hermione rolled over to grab the professor's hand. At once, he stopped. And turned to look at her. And gasped with relief as his eyes fell closed. The darkness of the scene dissolved and suddenly Hermione found herself stretched out on a couch with a book resting on her stomach. For a moment, she thought she had awakened. It only took a glance to recognize the distorted image of the study at Grimmauld Place and the dress she had been wearing earlier that very day. She had not realized he'd seen her lying there, and the thought send a shock of nervous pleasure to her core. She sighed contentedly at this world in which she had dissolved herself. He was standing in the doorway.

'Miss Granger,' his smooth baritone rolled across her skin as he stepped inside the room and closed the door. Perhaps she was seeing what he had wanted to happen today, if only reality were a dream.

'Professor,' she answered, feigning surprise and propping herself up on her elbows. Then inspiration struck and she lowered her lashes at him. 'I was just thinking about you.' She felt, rather than heard, his low growl of arousal as her own body seemed to tense with a sweet ache at the sound.

He was on her in an instant, but she was surprised when he sat beside her on the edge of the couch and stared down into her nervous face. _Oh gods._ This was the man who dreamt of sex with her, and he wanted it again, she knew. But this time, she wanted it, too.

One graceful hand was lifted to her cheek and she could feel his calluses against her skin. He tilted her chin up to face him and slowly lowered his mouth to hers. She only had a moment to gasp before he caught her in the embrace. _Merlin._ His mouth felt so remarkably soft against hers and his touch made her heart beat wildly and her body pulse with live electricity. His hand slipped into her hair, holding her captive and Hermione moaned. Yes, she was well and truly under his control, now. Funny, but she wasn't afraid at all.

When his tongue darted out to taste the seam of her lips, she opened for him and allowed him to thrust his tongue inside. He growled with ever more desperate arousal and pushed her farther back against the couch. She felt consumed as his tongue rubbed against her own and his hand trailed a lazy line down her neck to her torso, cupping her breast through the cotton of her dress. Hermione moaned. She had wanted to think that he wanted to touch her there. And yes, he had. But his hand did not stop there. It slipped down the long length of her stomach, briefly brushed the silky skin of her legs, and slipped between her thighs, cupping her mound. She gasped and bucked against his warmth, desperate for more of his touch.

Snape's mouth broke away and reconnected with her neck, sucking and biting the tender flesh there as he pressed his hand between her legs. Her panties seemed to disappear and she could feel his skin against her own. He moaned in desperation and thrust a finger inside. 'A virgin,' he whispered against her neck, nipping her skin with his teeth. She wasn't sure if he was pleased or disappointed. But as his finger slowly penetrated her, Hermione forgot her worries and allowed the sensation to wash over her. The pain was more acute than she remembered, but he was gentle, and his desperation to have her, despite the pain she knew it would cause, sent ripples of pleasure through her body. He added a finger, slowly stretching her as he panted into her shoulder, and began to curve them in just the right way. Pain burst into pleasure and Hermione bucked against his hand.

'Oh gods,' he murmured, 'you have no idea how badly I want you.'

Hermione moaned, this sweet torture was slowly driving her insane. 'I want you too,' she confessed.

He lifted his face to meet her eyes as his fingers gently pleasured her. There was disbelief there, and hope. But overwhelmingly, there was desire. 'Do you?' he asked her. She smiled.

'Yes. _Please_,' and she found that she really did want it. She wanted her professor to fuck her. Whether or not this was a dream.

He slid his fingers out of her and Hermione gasped with fear and excitement when he settled himself between her thighs. They were suddenly naked. Her professor seemed content to take his time, cupping her breasts and bringing his mouth to each one in turn. He wanted to taste her. Hermione moaned, reaching her hands into his hair and holding him against her, arching her back if only to be nearer.

His arm slipped around her waist and the other into her hair as he captured her lips once more and began to press inside her. He froze when he reached the boundary of her virginity, but Hermione, in her excitement, arched against him, begging him to enter. 'Please,' she whimpered into his mouth. He began to pull away and she was momentarily afraid that he would leave her. Then, with one great thrust, he was inside.

She cried out in agony and he softly peppered her face with kisses, a display of sensitivity so at odds with his character that Hermione forgot her pain. She caught his face in her hands and brought his mouth to hers, pushing her tongue between his lips as he rocked against her on the couch. He moaned and she echoed his response.

They began a steady rhythm. Hermione had never felt such pleasure in her life, and the knowledge that he was feeling it, too, made her want to weep with ecstasy. Finally, she was pleasing him. Snape panted above her, increasing the pace until it was almost too much for her to bear. His thrusts grew hard and desperate and he met her eye. She tried to hold it, communicating with him through the haze of pain and pleasure, but a moment of that had him crying out and freezing in place above her as he came. There it was; that glimpse past his masks and shields and lies. Then he collapsed beside her on a couch much wider than the real one and pulled her naked body up against his.

'Don't leave me,' he whispered, and she kissed his shoulder to tell him that she wouldn't. Closing her eyes, Hermione allowed the peacefulness to settle over her and marveled at the feel of Professor Snape's arms around her, naked. She had a sudden desire to see this side of him in real life; to be let past his mask without having to cheat. But that would never happen. If the man knew… if he ever found out… she could not imagine the disaster that would be. So she snuggled up against him as their breathing slowed and their bodies relaxed and Hermione drifted off to sleep.

She woke in her bed at Grimmauld Place, all alone, and began to cry.

…*~*J*~*…

_Please let me know what you think!_

_:} llorolalluvia_


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